


Graveyard of Passion

by incrediblydeadlyviper



Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: Backstory, Family Feels, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Sloppy Makeouts, a little steamy, chapman is a dork, funn family mentioned, graveyard, he just wants some peace and quiet though, islands of passion, madeleine always knows whats up, mentions of antigone, mentions of georgie, rudyard is lowkey kinky, rudyard is my sad son, rudyard's mom, she is gossip girl, this fandom needs more fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 09:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incrediblydeadlyviper/pseuds/incrediblydeadlyviper
Summary: Eric catches Rudyard readingIsland of Passion,and things get a little heated.





	Graveyard of Passion

**Author's Note:**

> Since I ran out of Chapyard fics because there are so little of them ;_; I decided to write my own! This story isn’t actually as light-hearted (or sexual) as it sounds, but it’s not heavy either. Hope you all like it!  
> Disclaimer: I'm not caught up so if anything doesn't match canon (like the Funn family stuff) please don't hurt me kay thanks

Let's get one thing straight. Rudyard did not approve of Antigone's perverse fascination with raunchy books. However, it had been a while, and desperate times called for desperate measures. Thus leading him to be crouching down behind a large tree in a forgotten corner of the cemetery, blocked from view by multiple headstones from funerals he had been in charge of back before the plague known as Chapman had moved in. He didn't want Antigone yelling at him for stealing her book or calling him a hypocrite and he definitely didn't want Georgie teasing him about reading such a distasteful thing, so he'd fled Funn Funerals and gone to his secret hideout. Ever since he was a child, whenever he had felt alone or afraid he would come here, finding solace underneath the giant oak tree, snuggled amongst its roots which provided more of a comfort than his own cold home ever had. 

You see, Antigone and Rudyard had grown up in the Funn family which was, ironically, no fun at all. But it hadn’t always been that way. Their father was a serious and efficient man, valuing quick, methodical funerals and discarding sentiment. Funerals were meant to be somber events and that was what Mr. Funn provided. Antigone and Rudyard were groomed for the business by being forced to attend every funeral their father directed, fidgeting silently next to each other, two small bodies clothed in black. They grew up around corpses and played quiet games, hiding amidst coffins and caskets or eavesdropping on their father discussing the funeral procedure with clients. Death was not a morbid, terrifying end to them but a commonplace, ordinary part of their lives. 

The only source of light and gentleness in their household was their mother, their sweet, sweet mother. She worked in the morgue all day with Antigone trailing behind her, but in the evening she would come up and make dinner with Rudyard following her and attempting to help but just making a mess instead. She never got angry with him though. Whenever he spilled something or dropped an ingredient, his mother would crouch down next to him before he got upset with himself, hug him tightly, peck his forehead and tell him to try again. Rudyard didn’t think she’d ever been truly angry. Sure, there were times when she would scold him or get irritated with their father, but it was never anything more than skindeep. 

Whenever she was in the room, their father was like a different man. Not necessarily in his demeanor or his personality but the hard lines on his face would suddenly smooth out and disappear, and he would smile. It was a smile so faint it almost didn’t exist, but it was more than anyone else could get from him. Their mother was beautiful, not in the loud, obvious way but in the way where you could see her everyday and not notice but once you took the time to truly look, you’d find that you couldn’t stop. She was a flower growing out of their gloomy funeral home, adding life to their quiet family and lighting up their dark little corner of the world. 

Antigone and Rudyard had never spoken of it, but they both silently agreed that hers was by far the worst funeral they had ever attended. Because it was no different than any of the others. After that day, Rudyard understood. This was his destiny. He was going to take over the funeral business and get the body in the coffin in the ground on time, because he was a Funn and that was what they did. 

During the service Rudyard had stayed perfectly still, perfectly well behaved, with no tears in his eyes. Just blankly staring at the generic coffin chosen for their lovely mother. It wasn’t until after the ceremony that he slipped away from Antigone and his father instead of walking back with them and looked for somewhere, anywhere he could be alone. He started off walking casually, wandering among the headstones then he broke out into a run. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as his head spun, and he tried to erase the memory of his mother’s name etched into a grave marker. 

He stumbled on a root and landed roughly at the base of a large oak tree. But instead of getting up, he just curled up into a tight ball and let the roots form a rough nest around him. He was drowning in tears, unable to stop the leak once it had sprung. By now, the sun was setting but he had no intention of returning to his lifeless home. He knew his father wouldn’t notice his absence. He didn’t notice much of anything these days. He felt bad for not telling Antigone, though. She would worry. But something had changed in all of the Funns the day Rudyard’s mother had died. They had always been reserved and not especially affectionate towards one another but they’d always _understood,_ too. Now, it felt as if there was a rift in between them all, impossible to cross. 

Rudyard woke up the next morning with a crick in his neck and sore bones, but his heart felt the tiniest bit lighter. He didn’t know if he would ever be happy again, but he knew that he could get up. He could look at his mother’s headstone. He could take over the business from his father. He could do all of this because when he couldn’t, he had a place to go. Rudyard continued to retreat to his secret place and over the years it had become a place he went to not only when he was upset but just in his free time to get away from his sister and all the nosey inhabitants of Piffling Vale. And in all those years, no one had ever found him here. After all, who else would hang out in a graveyard?

The only other being who knew of his special place was Madeleine, but Rudyard knew she wouldn't tell anyone about it. She followed him there that morning, riding on his shoulder. Madeleine usually stayed, but when she saw his choice of reading for the day she jumped off of him. Rudyard swore he heard a miffed squeak before she scurried away. Madeleine always was a bit pretentious about literature, but he chalked it up to her being angry about him reading this instead of her new manuscript. She was quite the writer. But Rudyard was in no mood for impressive prose. What he desperately wanted at the moment was an escape from his constantly hectic and disappointing life.

He settled deeper into the bark and turned to his bookmarked page, ready to delve into an entirely unbelievable and ridiculous world of beefy, swashbuckling heroes and salacious, under-dressed damsels in distress when he was so rudely interrupted by the only other person who might be found “hanging out in a graveyard” so to speak. He really should have known that he would try to ruin this for him too. 

"Rudyard? Is that-- Are you reading a raunchy book in a graveyard?"

Rudyard was too annoyed to be embarrassed or defend himself. This was _his_ spot, and he wasn’t just going to hand it over to Chapman, damn it. “Trying to. Trying to read a raunchy book in a graveyard that is if I can get some peace and quiet. Why are you here, anyway?” He glared at Chapman over the top of his novel.

Chapman laughed easily, running a hand through his perfect dark blonde hair and said, “Please, don’t stop on my account. I was just on my morning walk. I know it may seem strange,” he paused and then said thoughtfully, “though maybe not to you, but I enjoy walking through the graveyard. It’s as you said, peaceful and quiet. Do you come here often as well? It looks like you’ve claimed a lovely spot for yourself.” His tone was friendly, jovial even, but Rudyard didn’t trust him for a second. 

Rudyard sighed and set his book down. “Well, if you must know then yes, I do come here often. I’ve been coming here since I was a child,” he said softly. Then, as if remembering who he was talking to he added angrily, “And I don’t appreciate you invading my secret spot and trying to take it for yourself. You can’t have it. Not this, Chapman.”

“Rudyard, I’m not here to steal your spot. I was simply admiring it, that’s all,” Chapman said, slightly exasperated but used to it at this point. 

“Good because I’m not going to let you. And flattery will get you nowhere, Chapman. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get back to my book. Move along,” he said and shooed him with his hand. But, to Rudyard’s chagrin, Chapman was only moving closer.

“Since you were a child? I would think a graveyard would be frightening to a child.” 

“What’s there to be frightened about? There’s nothing alive in here. The dead can’t hurt you.” _Not like the living can._ Rudyard didn’t need to say it for Chapman to understand. “And besides, it’s not the graveyard I like.”

“Yes, it is rather cozy back here.”

“My mother liked trees like this. Big and strong and ancient. It reminds me of her.” For a flash of a second, Rudyard’s expression softened and Chapman saw a much younger man underneath all of the hardships and stress. He thought he must have imagined it when he blinked and was met with a familiar face as grim as the Reaper’s himself. 

“What was she like?” Rudyard focused a confused frown on him. “Sorry, I heard from Georgie that she passed when you were small,” Chapman elaborated. 

Rudyard wasn’t sure he liked the idea of Georgie giving out his personal information to Chapman of all people, but he’d revisit that later. “She was...wonderful and bright. Nothing like me.” He laughed bitterly and for once Chapman didn’t try to come up with something polite to say. No generic, surface-level words of encouragement could soothe this type of ache. This type of pain. 

“Anyway, it was a long time ago. No sense in dwelling on ancient history, and I really don’t want to think about my mother while attempting to read a raunchy book.” Rudyard said decisively as he closed himself off again and opened up his book. 

But Chapman didn’t want this to end, didn’t want everything to fade back into their usual bickering. Not when he’d only scratched the surface of who Rudyard Funn truly was. He stepped further into Rudyard’s hideout. 

Rudyard bristled. “Chapman, what are you--?”

Chapman sat down in front of him, now fully encased in his nest of roots and entirely too close. “Are you enjoying it so far? It was last month’s book for the Piffling Book Club mainly because it’s by a local author, but I must confess that I have yet to read it. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much time for reading lately.” Chapman said smoothly. Rudyard couldn’t decide whether to be appalled by the audacity of the man for sitting across from him, offended by the subtle jab at the end of his sentence, or just confused about the whole situation. 

In dealings with Chapman, he usually settled on suspicion and anger, and this conversation was no different. It was one thing for Chapman to monopolize his business, but he would be damned if he would take up his free time too. “I’m sure you haven’t with all the business you’ve stolen from me. And I don’t remember giving you permission to sit down. Now, if you’ll please move along, Chapman.” He said, crossing his arms and turning his head away swiftly with a huff. He was not budging on this. 

But after a few moments of awkward silence with no reply or sign of movement from Chapman, Rudyard couldn’t help it. He turned back towards Chapman and was taken aback by what he saw. Chapman was staring at him with tired eyes that seemed to say _“Please. I’m trying.”_

Rudyard’s eyebrows furrowed, and his lip jutted out, sulking in his discomfort. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to feel bad. He wasn’t the one ruining someone else’s morning. He sighed a great big sigh that seemed decades old and, after a long pause, said reluctantly, “Well, I’m not very far.” 

His voice was only a hair above a whisper, but it cut through the tense atmosphere like a scream. Chapman blinked in surprise and replied, “I’m sorry?”

“The book. I’m only about eighty pages in. And it's utter garbage, but it’s enjoyable garbage, I suppose.”

Chapman smiled and his eyes lifted, lively and soft, a stark contrast to what they’d been a minute ago. “Rudyard Funn’s guilty pleasure is raunchy books? I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it for myself.” 

Rudyard scowled at him, but Chapman just grinned wider. “So, have you got to anything _interesting_ yet, Rudyard?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. He’d meant it as a joke of course, but Rudyard’s face flashed pink all the way to his ears. _Oh?_ Now, he was intrigued. 

Chapman leaned closer and whispered, enhancing his charm a bit, “I’ll take that as a yes. Tell me, Rudyard, what happened? I’d really like your insight before I purchase the book for myself, you see.” 

Rudyard’s eyes widened, and he looked more frightened than Chapman had ever seen him. He was starting to feel uneasy about pushing Rudyard this far as he was obviously not used to these kinds of situations, but before he could back off Rudyard answered, “I- I don’t want to spoil it for you. And besides it was nothing of real importance.” He hurriedly tried to stow the book back into his weathered and frayed coat, but Chapman swooped it up deftly and opened it to the bookmarked page. He felt bad for teasing Rudyard so heavily, but this was the closest they’d ever been to getting along and he hadn’t expected Rudyard’s reactions to be quite so captivating. He simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Rudyard yelped and lunged towards him in hopes of retrieving the book, but Chapman was bigger and taller than him and held the book out of reach as he skimmed the contents. 

Chapman was grinning like a child, but as he got further down the page his expression changed until he was staring at the words with surprise, interest, and distaste mushed together on his face. He cleared his throat and said hoarsely, “Wow, I didn’t realize that this book was so, ahem, intense.” He gave Rudyard an appraised look. “And I didn’t realize you were into this type of thing either, Rudyard.” Chapman had never seen Rudyard with so much color on his face. His usually snow white complexion was flushed red, and he was frantically reaching for the book while leaning over Chapman.

“Yes, well, it’s not really any of your business is it, _Chapman,_ ” he snarled, still struggling though Chapman could no longer tell whether it was for the book or with his own embarrassment. He finally snatched the book out of Chapman’s hand and threw it to the side, away from the both of them as there was no way he could possibly enjoy it ever again without thinking of this awful moment. He looked at Chapman and said, “I hope you’re happy now that you’ve destroyed any hopes I once had of having a nice, relaxing morning.” He had meant to sound angry and vengeful but instead his voice just came out sad. He’d had enough, and all he’d wanted was some time to himself. 

Chapman frowned more to himself than at Rudyard because, for once, his accusations were valid. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it, but he couldn’t seem to stop pestering Rudyard. There was some part of him that just couldn’t leave him alone crouched underneath that great big tree amidst an underground sea of bodies. It was the same force that drove him to pop in at Funn Funerals every now and again to visit its inhabitants. He knew Rudyard wouldn’t want to talk to him and most certainly would not be attending whatever event Chapman was inviting them to, and yet anytime there was even the slightest reason to walk next door, he took it. He knew that it irritated Rudyard to no end, and yet he hid under the facade, the lie, that he was being the bigger person and extending an olive branch. He was simply goading Rudyard, but for what?

Rudyard started to stand up to leave, but Chapman caught his arm, pulling him back down to the grass. “Wait, Rudyard, please. You’re right, I’m sorry I provoked you. I was only teasing you, but I took it too far. If anyone should leave, it should be me.”

Rudyard said, matter-of-factly, “You’re absolutely right. Good day.”

“Oh. Hmm, well, to be honest, I expected you to tell me to stay right about now but, uh, if not then I guess…” Chapman trailed off, glancing over at Rudyard expectantly.

“Why would I do that? I’ve only just gotten you to leave.”

“Oh, come on, Rudyard!” 

“Ugh, fine, fine! You can stay, if you promise to be quiet.” Chapman smiled and opened his mouth to thank him, but Rudyard intercepted him and said, “Ah! No talking,” and put a finger to his lips. 

Rudyard stretched out a hand and plucked his discarded book from the ground, dusting off the cover and twirling it to face him. Despite what he’d earlier declared, this was the only reading material he’d brought with him, and he couldn’t bare the awkwardness of sharing the same space with Chapman without some kind of distraction. But that didn’t stop him from glancing up every once in awhile.

Rudyard fell silent when he began reading and Chapman wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He’d assumed when Rudyard had allowed him to stay that he meant they would be talking to each other not just sitting near one another. He most definitely didn’t expect Rudyard to pick up the book again after he’d read what it was he was reading. How Rudyard kept a straight face was beyond him. He thought back to the scarlet blush that had previously marked Rudyard’s cheeks. Well, his poker face wasn’t perfect. Maybe he was just too fed up with Chapman to care anymore. 

He really hadn’t expected Rudyard to be into something so...kinky. His sister maybe, but not him. Not that there was anything wrong with that in fact the thought was somewhat enticing even, but it had surprised him. He didn’t quite understand the appeal himself. Chapman thought about what he’d read and shook his head. Nope, the situation the lust-filled protagonist of the raunchy book was in did nothing for him. He thought back to Rudyard’s smooth skin and the scent he’d inhaled while he was pressed against him in pursuit of his book. Chapman now recognized the sweet scent he’d picked up earlier in their close proximity as clementines and cinnamon. Antigone’s special embalming fluid. For one terrifying second, all the carefully calculated thoughts and well-built walls in Chapman’s mind let down their guard, and he imagined Rudyard in the position the damsel had been in, sweating and panting in front of him. His cheeks colored with a pink tint, and his eyes darted nervously to the real Rudyard as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. 

His hair stood on end and his cheeks darkened when he was met with deep, black eyes that bore into him, stabbing through his conscious. Here he was, not only fantasizing about someone right next to him, but imagining them in a very lewd and inappropriate way. He’d never done something so indecent in his life. He supposed he didn’t have to feel too bad since Rudyard was reading something very lewd and inappropriate right next to _him,_ but he was still ashamed. Rudyard’s eyes gutted him, but as he was about to look away, unable to withstand the pressure, he noticed something peculiar. 

Rudyard’s body was rigid, his arms tensed as they held the book in front of his face like a shield, his eyes merely sentries looking out over the paperback and surveying the scene. But despite his best efforts, Chapman could see that his face was a similar shade and that his breathing had slowed, his whole frame shaking with every breath. Chapman couldn’t believe what he was seeing. _Rudyard_ was hot and bothered. And he was staring directly at him.

Chapman didn’t think. He didn’t think about how unlike him this was. He didn’t think about how absolutely absurd this was. He didn’t think about how he had lost his meticulously crafted composure all because of a _look._ He just moved. 

One moment he was folded up gracefully next to Rudyard, and the next he was practically on top of the man. Chapman gently pried _Island of Passion_ from Rudyard’s clenched fist and neatly set it down next to them before resuming his advances. Rudyard’s face kept switching between confusion, anger, and fear but the longing in his eyes never disappeared. Ignoring his roaring instincts, Chapman reigned himself in and slowly brought his hand up to cradle the side of Rudyard’s face. He had one knee resting in the space between Rudyard’s legs on the ground and he stilled to let Rudyard adjust. Even with actions based off of a lack of rational thought, Chapman wouldn’t pressure Rudyard into anything one-sided based off of assumptions. 

Rudyard’s eyes narrowed and flicked down from Chapman’s obnoxiously bright blue ones to his lips. He felt the heat of Chapman’s large hand and Chapman’s thigh pressed against his own and his resolve snapped. 

He surged forward and grasped Chapman’s face in his hands, leading him closer and closer until their lips met. Their mouths joined and moved in time with a steady rhythm. Rudyard’s hands wandered, getting lost in Chapman’s gelled hair and destroying its carefully structured composition. Chapman didn’t seem to mind though as he attempted to pin Rudyard against the oak and kiss the living hell out of him, but Rudyard wasn’t having it. He couldn’t just sit back and let Chapman have all the fun. They parted for a second and, Rudyard pounced and tackled Chapman who caught him with a surprised “oomph,” barely managing to keep the two of them upright.

Rudyard was now straddling Chapman’s lap, furiously kissing any exposed skin. He sucked on Chapman’s strong jaw and dove into the depths of his collarbone, leaving behind little purple blossoms in his wake. Chapman hadn’t expected Rudyard to respond so ferociously, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. He hadn’t thought far ahead enough to know what to expect from Rudyard in this type of situation, but Rudyard always seemed to shy away from romantic involvement and had never showed any interest in dating as far as he knew. When he and Georgie had gone out, despite it being obvious, a date had been Rudyard’s last conclusion about their outing as if that was not a reasonable assumption at all. 

But, upon further inspection, it made perfect sense. Rudyard was not a taciturn, docile man. Chapman had always known him to speak his mind and put forth all of his energy into whatever goal (or more likely scheme against himself) he was working towards. Rudyard’s kiss exemplified the evolved nature of their relationship.What lurked beneath the rivalry, and the banter, and the disdain. Passionate and fierce yet with an underlying tenderness that conveyed an intimate understanding of each other. 

He hoisted Rudyard up higher and directed his back to the tree for better balance. He ran his hands up and down Rudyard’s too thin torso, frowning slightly when he felt his ribs. But he decided his concern could wait as Rudyard’s mouth pressed against the corner of his own. His hands brushed up under Rudyard’s shirt and after exploring his smooth back came to rest on his hips, digging into Rudyard’s creamy skin and establishing a tight grip as Rudyard’s teeth sunk into his shoulder. 

He winced,“Ah, Rudyard, that’s--”

“What’s the matter, Chapman? Can’t keep up?” Rudyard said with a devilish smirk.

God, Chapman was half convinced that Rudyard was trying to put him in an early grave so that he could do his funeral. 

Chapman pushed Rudyard’s back further into the tree, so that the rough bark was scratching his skin. He shifted his weight in his legs and pressed his knee on Rudyard’s groin, forcing a swift exhale of breath from Rudyard. Taking advantage of Rudyard’s temporarily dazed state, Chapman caught him in an urgent kiss and refused to let go until they were both breathless. Chapman relaxed their position, and Rudyard collapsed onto him, his head resting on Chapman’s shoulder.

“Eric, Rudyard, call me Eric. I’m pretty sure we’re on a first name basis by now.”

Chapman let Rudyard gather himself for a few more minutes before softly separating their bodies and leaning Rudyard up against the strong oak. He then backed up a few feet and made sure they were no longer touching. Touching Rudyard was dangerous when his self-control was on the line. 

Rudyard frowned, discontent with the newly acquired space between them. “What are you doing? Come back and finish what you started.” he said playfully but sincerely.

“There’s nothing I’d like more but we can’t very well continue in the graveyard, can we? So, what do you say we go back to mine and…” Chapman trailed off and looked hopefully up at Rudyard only to be immediately disappointed.

Instead of looking excited, Rudyard just looked displeased. “Do we have to? I mean I know it’s impossible at mine, but I can’t stand the thought of doing this” he gestured back and forth between them, “at _Chapman’s,_ ” he said, shuddering at the thought as if he hadn’t just been snogging its owner. 

“First of all, I’m not sure what you mean by that,” he gave Rudyard a pointed look who just rolled his eyes, “but it’s not like we’re going to hang out in the lobby. We can go up to my flat above the shop.” Chapman gave him his best pleading look, utilizing the full power of his mesmerizing baby blues. 

He was so handsome that Rudyard felt nauseous.

He sighed and replied, “Fine, since we have no other option.” Chapman hid a smile at Rudyard’s implication that stopping their engagement was not a viable option. Rudyard stood up and brushed the dirt and wrinkles from his pant legs. He buttoned up a few stray undone buttons from their previous physical activities and simply gave up on trying to fix his hair. It was a lost cause. 

He extended a hand out to Chapman. “Come on, Eric. We’ve got some business to attend to,” he said with a spark in his dark eyes that Chapman didn’t know how he’d missed during all the encounters they’d had since he’d moved to Piffling. It seemed that there was a lot about Rudyard he’d missed. 

Chapman placed his hand in Rudyard’s and pulled himself up, keeping his tight grasp on Rudyard’s hand. Their fingers twisted together, snaking around one another in tight embrace. They departed from Rudyard’s secret spot in the empty graveyard hand in hand, leaving behind a battered copy of _Island of Passion_ as a present for the deceased of Piffling Vale and the only evidence of their presence that morning. After all, they didn’t need it any longer. They had enough of their own passion to go around.

Madeleine giggled to herself from atop Rudyard’s tree as she watched the lovers disappear. She had been right to stay behind when she saw Chapman approaching for she knew her readers would not be disappointed with this new, exciting development.

**Author's Note:**

> tbh their sexual tension kills me  
> If you have any suggestions for more Wooden Overcoats fics or other podcast fics I can’t guarantee I will write them but feel free to drop them in my asks on tumblr as I know how frustrating it is being in these tiny podcast fandoms with barely any fan content(ಥ﹏ಥ)  
> [Personal Tumblr](https://the-incrediblydeadly-viper.tumblr.com/)  
> [Art Tumblr](https://vi-art.tumblr.com/)  
> [Art Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/_vi_art/)


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